


That Wasn't a Wormhole

by punkstealer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Maybe - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark!Stiles, Steter - Freeform, Violence, but not really, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:02:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkstealer/pseuds/punkstealer
Summary: *BEING REWRITTEN*The cell phone he grabs from the night stand doesn’t look like his, but to be fair, he is always breaking them and having to get replacements. The close up of Deadpool’s ass as the lock screen does look familiar. Maybe it is his.In which Stiles doesn't know what the fuck is going on and he really doesn't want to see Peter or Deaton first thing in the morning. Good thing Gned the Gnome is a true friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Blood and gore.

Stiles is man enough to admit that he’s in quite a predicament right about now. The iron pipes have been shaved down to form a sharp point and are shoved through his palms into the stump below him; preventing his outstretched arms from moving while his legs are bound together by some heavy chain. He lets out a broken off moan as he lifts his impaled hand a few centimeters, but his limbs feel like lead and it slides down the blood slicked pipe.

He had already screamed himself hoarse and it did nothing to hinder the figures’ chanting around him; he knew the words at first, but everything seems to be running together and the words are spinning around and around and _around him_. Time isn’t real anymore.

Sometimes if he can turn his eyes and squint into the trees around them, he can see the iridescent lights that mean fae. The blue shine that seems to dance around signaling the Pixies that he’s been stumbling across lately; at first he thought he was shivering from blood loss and his teeth had been clacking together, but he knew those chirps and chattering. The Gnomes.

“Please…” his tongue feels too big and swollen for his mouth.

Stiles can’t tell why they aren’t helping. Sparks aren’t necessarily kin with the Fae, but there is a connection between them. He even has the proof inked into his skin. Something cold bites into his side that quickly turns into a sharp burning that seems to tug at all of his nerve endings; Stiles drags his eyes down to his own body and sees one of the hooded figures making quick work of his runes. With another slice of the blade Stiles can feel his magic being _ripped_ from him.

They want to strip him of his _blood_ , of his _sweat_ , and of _his hard fucking work_  that ingrains his magic into who he is now. That’s not… that’s not okay. Rage temporary blinds him as he finally lets himself wake the Nemeton that is beneath him. The magic, that he had managed to put to sleep only the previous year, oozes out of the stump to try and reach its hurt kin.

Stiles can feel the static in the air as the Nemeton begins to pulsate under him. The ley lines surge as they transfer energy to the Spark’s prone form. The faes’ dance and twist around with anticipation as they wait for the barriers to burn out; the older fairies from court narrow their eyes and focus on the humans that have managed such old magic, while the Pixies seem to flutter out of this plane and into the next.

He’s not even aware that his eyes have closed until he pries his lids open as the chanting tapers off. The glowing red color of the Blood Moon is the only thing his eyes can register, but a figure soon stands above him and cutting off the sky from his view. Stiles’ head lulls to the right and he catches the glint of a long blade above him; he catches the sight of a few runes etched into the metal from the fire light dancing off of all of them.

“You’re not shit…”

It takes too much work to spit the words out, but as soon as they make it out of his mouth he feels the point of the blade nick his chest. Finally Stiles lets his look into the hood of the person above him. Anger surges through him one last time as he recognizes the face; this isn’t possible. The smug grin shot at him let’s Stiles know that his emotions are clear on his face. He tries to call to the magic surrounding them one last time, but he knows it’s too late. The blade slices into him and he finally just let’s go; he lets the darkness pull him under.

 

* * *

 

Stiles bites off a scream as he jerks awake in his bed; the knife he usually hides under his pillow isn’t there and that does nothing to stop his racing heart. His eyes race across the room, searching it for the threat, but nothing seems unusual. The laptop is still open with homework papers scattered around the desk surface, dirty clothes piled up inside the laundry basket – and a few pieces having missed the mark and fell beside the hamper – and his blankets tangled up around his legs. So, nothing unusual.

He takes a few deep breaths, but still keeps his eyes dancing from each dark corner to the next. He could never be too careful. When the minutes pass by and nothing came out to eat him he finally let his muscles slowly relax. The clock he keeps beside his bed blinks “5:03 AM”.

“Okay, nightmares are normal. They happen sometimes.”

Stiles mutters to himself as he places the clock back. This is just his life now, but he’s managing. He just needs to take a shower and then go back to researching; those damn Pixies are up to something.

His muscles are stiff as he drags his tired body into the bathroom; however, it’s still just part of his normal now. Chasing the things that go bump in the night causes some stiff muscles, or it could be all the scar tissue that he’s accumulated. He can’t really tell. It’s not until he’s actually in the shower that he notices.

“What the fuck…”

Pale hands are glaring at him, but they had been covered in runes just yesterday. In fact, he glances down to the rest of his body and promptly chokes on his spit. He blindly reaches out and rips the shower curtain back, the running water forgotten in his haste to get out. His wide, owlish eyes look back at him in the mirror, but he they are pulled down to the red staining his lips. The dried blood cracks at the corner of his mouth as he opens his lips up wide and looks at the red coating his teeth and tongue. But he can’t see a cut or bite. He lets his mouth close with a loud ‘Clank!’ from his teeth snapping together; eyes continue to take stolk of his body. More dried blood forming a line from his sternum to naval; he chips a few specks off with his thumb and notices the inflamed scar there. A knock at the door sets off another round of ‘fight or flight’ taking hold of him. Who the fuck is in his house?

“Stiles?” His dad’s voice calls out from the other side. “I got called in early. I’ll see you tonight, alright?”

Stiles feels like cold water just got dumped on his head as he stays rooted to the spot. It’s been too long since he’s head that voice and now it’s just here? His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, oh god. Is he dying?

“Stiles?”

There’s more knocking on the door, but he can hear his dad’s phone go off followed by some grunted swears. “I got to go, okay?”

“Alright!”

But Stiles can already hear his dad’s retreating footsteps as he answers back. The panic is back, but this time he can’t fight it away. He’s only been awake for a short period, but it still feels like it’s too much. The panic that seems to always be just under the surface met its breaking point and Stiles has to slide down to the floor. The whole time his head is jumping from his dad to his rune free skin. Everything is just wrong and too tight.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the floor, but he eventually manages to crawl into the shower and finish his panic attack in there. The warm water helping sooth his aches and also gives a small comfort. His thoughts racing as he tries to think of a plan.

Peter or Deaton have to have an idea on what is going on, but he really doesn’t want to deal with either of them first thing in the morning. He wraps a towel around his waist and makes a trail of wet footprints to his room, he’ll dry them up in a few minutes, and sits on the edge of his bed.

The cell phone he grabs from the night stand doesn’t look like his, but to be fair, he is always breaking them and having to get replacements. The close up of Deadpool’s ass as the lock screen does look familiar. Maybe it is his.

Stiles clicks on the text message icon and scrolls through the thread he has with Scott; they don’t see each other every day, but they always send a message to let the other know that they’re alive. Instead of the usual checking in messages he’s greeted with a rather boring set of texts; along with a blurry photo of Lydia at school.

Scott wishing that Stiles feels better.

Scott saying he’ll drop off the homework.

Scott giving him details, step-by-step, of what he’s doing at school.

Well, it seems like he will give Peter that visit after all. Fuuuuck.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles rubs at his closed eyes with the heel of his hands, he has to blink spots out of his vision from using too much pressure, and takes a second look.  

Alright.  

What the fuck.  

The sun has only just began to make an appearance at the horizon, but it’s still enough light to see the Hale house. Derek had only just begun renovation on the old bones of the house. The porch had finally collapsed under the combined weight of Stiles and Scott; while the rain during the Winter had wrecked the inside. Mold had start sprouting in each room, not that Stiles was keeping track or anything. The point is that the house couldn’t be done already.  

So again, what the fuck?  

The three story house didn’t have any holes or missing walls. The white paint didn’t look too fresh in this light, but it didn’t look unfinished or abandoned. The porch didn’t have a gaping hole where Stiles foot got stuck just the other day. And the cars! They didn’t even all fit in the garage!  

Stiles could feel his right hand moving to tap a beat against his jean clad leg, a nervous habit he has, as he stares at the house before him. He is technically on Hale property, but he knows that they wouldn’t be able to notice him just yet. His Jeep on the other hand… 

“Shit shit shit shit.”  

Stiles throws the gear into reverse and he tries to leave as quickly as he came,  it he jerks to a stop again. He bites down on his lower lip before letting out a loud groan. He quickly hops out of his baby and rushes to nearest tree.  

He couldn’t find his usual knife that he keeps in his bed, but he still had his small pocket knife he keeps in his glove box. With the dull blade he makes quick work of carving at the base of the tree. He repeats the process with the next two trees before movement in the house catches his attention. Whelp, someone overstayed their welcome. It’s him. He overstated.  

Whoever is walking around in the house doesn’t seem to notice him and Stiles thanks whatever deity is watching over him as he makes his get away.  

 - 

“I need to see Janet.”  

The blonde at the counter raises an eyebrow over the top of her coffee mug. It’s early, he gets it. But come on!  

“It’s important. Is she here?”  

“Look,” the young woman places her mug down and gives Stiles a dry look. “She’s by appointment only. Is there anything else I can help you with? Maybe some healing crystals? We got a new shipment earlier this week.” She points a finger over to the shelves covered with different rocks.  

Stiles gives her an unimpressed look.  

“Some incense? Dragon’s Blood is my favorite.”  

“It doesn’t even use  _real_ dragon’s blood or else it would give a more sulfur and rotten fruit smel- you know what, that’s not important. What is important is that I need to speak to your grandma. Is she here or not? I’m not joking when I say this is life  _or death._ ”  

“Well don’t keep the poor boy stranding there then.”  

Stiles flails his arms around at the sudden voice behind him. An older women with greying, blonde hair pinned into a bun stood behind him. Her green eyes sizing him up as she switches her cane to her left hand, he knows from experience that she doesn’t even use it to walk. It’s her whacking stick. Her eyes narrow as she glances above him.  

“Claire, will you get my tea ready? We’ll be in the back.” Janet ushers him behind the counter and behind the tapestry covered doorway, Claire grumbling a complaint behind them. “Sit.” 

Stiles, graceful as ever, flops down in the open chair as Janet walks around the circular table. His fingers drum a beat against his thigh as his eyes dance around the familiar looking room. The black tablecloth is intricately folded so the white lines make an incomplete picture on the top, but he can still clearly see what the marks line up to make.  

Behind Janet is a glass cabinet is filled with trinkets for tourists. A verity of different skulls and smaller bones litter the top shelf. On the middle is a crystal ball and racks of cards. Finally on the bottom shelf are different containers filled with different powders that call out to Stiles’ magic.  

They wait in silence as she reaches under the table and pulls out another deck of cards and begins to place them, face up, on the table between them. Claire comes in pushing a a small cart and places near the duo, she closes the tapestry behind her with a flourish and comes to stand behind her grandmas chair. Stiles can feel the electricity in the air, the charm Claire activated clearly at work.  

“So,” Janet finishes placing the last card down and goes on to prepare two cups. “I can feel my magic on you, but I can’t see it. And I know I don’t know you.”   

“Ah thanks.” Stiles reaches out to accept the cup. “Yeah. I drive from Beacon Hills. It’s, uh, kinda weird story. But I know you. You did all of my rune tattoos and I had them before I went to bed last night, but they’re gone. And somethings wrong. Like, really wrong. Have you noticed the Fae activity?”   

Stiles leans as far as he can over the table. He needs to get his point across to Janet and, really, this isn’t the weirdest he’s acted with her. She glances up at him then goes back down to studying the cards. Stiles follows her gaze, but instead of seeing anything the cards remain black. He has to hold his groan in; he fucking forgot about these cards.  

“I’ll do your runes,” with a flourish of her hand the cards shuffle back into a pile.  

“You believe me?”  

Stiles wants to kiss her precious face.  

“Because your magic is unstable. In the mean time why don’t you tell me a story.”  

This time he doesn’t hide his groan of displeasure as Janet flashes him a smirk. Claire let’s out a cackle as she begins mixing some of the powders together. 

“Fair warning, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”  

Stiles groans again.  

- 

By the time Stiles gets home the sun had sent long ago. The two-hour drive to see Janet had been worth it, but he also hates her with all his will power. His body aches in protest as he shifts to get out of the car. So, it may have been a lot more a lot more painful than he remembers, but he's so grateful for it all.  

The burns on his chest is a new one, but it's something that makes sense. Magic works best when it's engraved into the body by ink, burning or scarification. He usually would have chosen to just do all of it in ink; however, even he could tell that his magic wouldn't have reacted well to trying to mix their powers together. Since he wanted it all done at once, the scarification would have taken too long. Hence, the oh so fun runes burned over the new scar on his chest.  

Claire had pretended to be interested, but he can see the sadist in her.   

He might have found his soul mate in her.   

"Stiles!"  

He visually jumps as his dad comes from the living room and drags him into a hug.  

"Jesus kid, you know you can't just leave like that. How are you feeling?" 

His dad pulls away and presses the back of his hand against Stiles' forehead. Guilt and fear crash into Stiles as he looks up at his dad's worried face. It's been so long since he's had this and he isn't sure what he's supposed to do. He's not the same Stiles that his dad knows.  

So, he fakes it.  

"I'm fine, daaad." Stiles whines out as he gently swats his dad away from him. In reality he wants to latch on and never let go, but that one hug is already irritating his over worked skin.   

John raises an eyebrow at his son.  

"You're feeling fine. No headaches? Or throwing up? Dizziness?"  

John continues to list off at each shake of Stiles' head.  

"Oh really? If that's right then you're up for school tomorrow?"  

Stiles can recognize a challenge when he sees one.  

"Of course, pops-o-mine!" He makes sure to pop the "p".  He raises his own eyebrow at his dad, letting him know that the ball is in his court now.   

John lets out a deep sigh, "Alright, but you call me if you don't feel well, okay?"  

"'Course! Now, if you'll excuse me, I still have some things that Scottie dropped off that I should finish."  

Stiles runs up the stairs, refusing to turn back and make sure John would still be standing there. Maybe he should find out what the fuck is going on, because Janet's advice.  

 _"Something is pulling your energy here. You need to follow the trail."_  

He scoffs. What a load of bullshit. If he didn't know Janet then he'd think that she was just yanking him around, but...  

Stiles rotates his arm around and lets the light reflect off of his pale skin. At just the right moment he can see the runes inked into his arm and hand, but it's gone in the next moment. Claire was the one to suggest a glamour. It was an agreement between the three that they should keep all of this as hush-hush as possible until they can figure out  _why._  

If he stops breathing and strains his ears he can hear John pacing downstairs, his tone hushed but still worried. Probably Melissa.  

Maybe.  

Are they still friends? 

Everything is just too confusing. Stiles lets out a harsh breath and runs a hand through his hair. Thank God he stopped shaving it. He rubs both hands over his scalp and grabs a fist full of hair in each hand.   

"Okay. Research. I can do this in my sleep. But first,"  

He had already placed an order with Janet and Claire, but it never hurt to double check; Stiles already knew that he didn't have his sleeping knife or nightstand gun. His small, neat collection of bullets fired  _at_ his aren't lined up on the shelf above his bed. The hollowed-out book used to be stuffed with baggies holding different powders now only has his stash of cash.  

The hiding spot he made in his floor, thank you Little Vampire, is not fucking there. And don't even get him started on the closet.  

It's literally just a closet now.  

With 

Clothes. 

What even. 

There's no mystical trunk full of magic books that basically look like the skin covered cursed books depicted in all the horror movies. No mountain ash, because that is his human place dammit. His alter to Bast – he just saw Black Panther, okay – is non-existent.   

With a defeated sigh he slumps down into his desk chair. The papers scattered before him is just homework, like he predicted earlier.  

Gross.   

He picks up one of the pencils and flicks the papers off his keyboard with it. No one could make him do his homework before, why would he start now? It's all about the test scores and essays, so far that's gotten him by just fine.  

Stiles almost cries in relief when his laptop isn't password protected, but then curses himself. Why the fuck isn't there a password.  

There's no files hidden in files hidden in  _more_  files about the things that go bump in the night. There's not even porn! There's no way this is his life.  

"Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."  

Opening up the browser sends shock through his body. Endless pages of Wiki – not reliable he knows, but it's just so good sometimes- and medical pages of Frontotemporal Dementia. 

"Am I fucking dying?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hales come in next chapter!  
> Let me know if you like it or not.


	3. Chapter 3

“Dude!”  

Scott rushes over like the over grown puppy that he is and pulls Stiles into a tight hug.  

“Hey man! How’s it going?”  

Stiles wraps Scott up in his arms and pats his back. A typical bro hug, but it means so much more to him. It’s a reminder that Scottie is still here with him and breathing. The days they don’t see each other always worry Stiles.  

“You didn’t tell me you were coming today!”  

“Surprise!”  

The two pull away, but their wide grins won’t fade. Students rush on by to get to their lockers; they give Stiles a wide berth, which is hard to do in the small hallway.  

“Hey Scottie, who’s that?”  

Stiles nods over to a couple of girls on the opposite end of the hall.  

“Michelle? She’s in our English class.”  

“No. Next to Cora.”  

Scott looks over at them then shoots Stiles one of his confused faces, head tilted to the side and everything. He really is a puppy.  

“Athena?” Stiles nods for him to go on. “Athena Hale? She’s Cora’s sister, man.” 

“Wait, what? I thought her sister was, uh, is Laura?”  

Scott finally puts his full attention on his best friend and eyes him. He may not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but Scott can easily figure things out when he puts his mind — and attention — to it.  

“Are you sure your alright, Stiles? Do you want me to drive you home? Mom won’t mind me missing a day.”  

“I’m fiiiiine, Scottie. Just, you know, why don’t you refresh my memory on the Hales?”  

Stiles flails his arms around his body to demonstrate whatever he means by “fine” before flinging an arm over Scott’s shoulder. Officially leading him from the two Hales.  

He could  _feel_ the eyes staring at him, but there only two pairs of them actually made him tense up.  

— 

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”  

Peter didn’t even try to hide the smirk as he watches Talia question her son. He always feels a vindictive glee whenever he’s not the one on the Alpha’s shitlist.  

As if she can hear him she shoots a glare at Peter. 

He shrugs. He’s going to be the one cleaning up this mess anyway, so might as well enjoy the ride.  

“I mean, I don’t know who it was. It was early and it’s not like I was really awake.” Derek says as he looks up at his mom; his eyes flashing Beta gold as he tilts his head in submission.  

She sighs at him, but still flashes her red eyes back. “Well, what do you remember?”  

“Isn’t Laura the ‘Alpha in training’ here who’s supposed to be ‘honing’ in her senses? So, who isn’t she being questioned for not knowing?”  

Peter doesn’t even try to subtly high-five his favorite niece. And yes, she is his favorite. He’s told everyone.  

Multiple times.  

Athena comes in after her sister and throws herself on the opposite side of Derek. Laura opens her mouth to argue, but Derek cuts her off before she can get started.  

“Laura woke me up and said it was my turn to take everyone to school,” Derek shrugs his shoulders again. Damn that nervous tic. “There was some old Jeep near the path, but they were leaving. I figured they took a wrong turn.”  

It’s not unusual for that to happen. There aren’t many houses near the Preserve so there have been teenagers turning up the driveway thinking it’s a trail.  

“Was it a blue one?” Athena pipes up, heart increasing once she realizes she spoke up. “The Jeep. Was it blue? Kind of beat up?”  

Cora raises an eyebrow at her sister, but the corner of her mouth pops up in amusement once she connects the dots. Talia turns and points an accusing finger at her daughters, “What do you know about this?”  

“Relax, mom. It’s the sheriff’s kid. He’s always talking about it falling apart.”  

Athena’s cheeks redden a little as she rolls her eyes. “One time I heard him cooing at it during lunch. He was petting the door like it was a dog.”  

“He’s completely harmless, if you don’t include Athena’s crush the size of Hell.”  

“Cora! You’re not supposed to bring up smells that we can’t control!”  

Peter sees the exact moment that Talia realizes that she’s lost the conversations. Laura cackles from her spot leaning against the wall; she saunters up to her little sister and leans over the arm of the couch. Cora has a wicked smile on her face as she pulls out her cellphone and sends off a text message.  

Derek just looks uncomfortable with life.  

“So you like the sheriff’s kid? What’s he like? Should I have to worry about him whisking you away on a white horse to go fuc-” 

“Laura!” Talia snaps at her eldest.  

Athena growls and flashes her eyes at her older sister. Peter can practically feel the not-possible migraine building up at all the childish antics going on around him. He’d think he was surrounded by pups instead of almost adults.  

“So Cora,” Peter reaches over from his spot on his chair and shoves at her. “What’s the kid like?”  

She glares at him and kicks out a leg to hit him back. “Dunno, he finally came back to school today.”  

“What do you mean?” Talia asks.  

“I mean, he’s been gone for awhile now. He had some sort of mental break down. Ask Athena.”  

Both teenagers roll their eyes, but Cora just goes back to her phone as the attention switches to her sister. 

“ _Stiles,_ ” Athena reaches across Derek to shove at Cora. “Was sick for awhile, but he came back today and he looked good. Healthy. Even his scent improved! Stiles started smelling… off, I guess, a couple months ago. Then at the beginning of last month he had this weird episode during chemistry.  

Everyone thought it was a joke at first, but he didn’t know where he was or who any of us were. After that he stopped coming and his friend made it sound like he was dying or something.”  

Talia shoots a look over to Peter who nods in acknowledgment.  

“What did he sell like?”  

Athena looks between her mom and uncle for a moment. “It’s hard to explain.”  

“Is it like when Nick gets sick?”  

“Sort of, but it was a lot heavier.”  

A loud banging from outside the room cuts Peter off from asking more questions. A hush falls over the room as they listen.  

“Scatter!” A muffled yell calls out from behind the closed door; sound of giggling and running feet soon follow. Laura rushes to yank on the door handle to catch her younger cousins in the process of listening to the grown-up conversation.  

The door swings open and bounces off the wall with a loud  **BANG!**  Instead of seeing a herd of small demon-shaped children Laura jumps back in shock at seeing the demon-shaped adult.  

“Ah! Mama Ophelia!” Laura gasps as a hand goes to her chest.  

“So, what’s this I hear about a crush?”  

Peters mom walks into the room, demanding respect at her mere presence. Her black and white peppered hair is in a braid, falling to her mid back. Her plain green tee shirt and jeans have pain splotches on them, probably trying to make her look innocent, but her blue eyes shining with amusement negates the act.  

He likes to think that even without the Werewolf gene in her body that his mom would still be strong in her older age. Peter stands and walks to his mom to place a chaste kiss on her cheek.  

“If you’ll excuse me, Derek and I have some business to attend to.”  

Derek, recognizing the invitation to escape, leaps up from the couch and rushes after his uncle. He’s gotten a lot better at reading cues and remains silent until the two are driving down the driveway.  

“Where are we going?”  

“What? I can’t take my favorite nephew out for a drive?”  

Derek shoots Peter a dry look. “I’m your favorite nephew, because I’m the only one old enough to be quiet for more than 5 minutes.”  

“Then use that skill and let me listen to the music.” Peter flicks the volume up to drown out any protests from his sputtering nephew.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you TheBlueMenace for pointing out some of my mistakes!! Corrected a few autocorrected words!   
> Hope everyone has a lovely Easter!  
> Stiles and Peter finally meet next chapter, mwahaha. Again, please let me know if you are liking the story or what I can do to make it better!


	4. Chapter 4

“But why did I have to come?”

“Derek, shut up.”

The younger man glares at his uncle, but he’s ignored as Ophelia walks around the room. Her usual blue eyes look as if that are being covered by a white mist; it’s a sight that sends shivers down his spine. Sure, he’s heard stories of his grandmas magic, but it’s different to see it first hand. Plus it’s making his nose itch and his eyes water. Peter, on the other hand, keeps his eyes strictly on his mother as she finishes setting up the room. The black scrying mirror is placed gently on her desk before she closes the circle around them.

“I’ll need silence for this. Derek, sweetie, I need you to close your eyes for me. Concentrate and remember anything you can about the Jeep, alright? Peter-”

Peter already has his eyes closed and he’s searching through the conversation he had with Deaton a couple of days ago; after all, this isn’t his first time doing this with her. He already knows what to look for.

The room is silent; the smell of ozone is heavy in the air as the three concentrate on their separate tasks. Peter recalls any thing that he believes to be important from what Deaton had told him regarding the sigils carved into the trees.

  
_*_

_“_ _These aren’t anything familiar. They look as if they are custom made. Look,” Deaton takes Peter’s phone and zooms in on one section of the picture. “This looks like ‘protection’, but it ends and this one connecting to it looks like ‘fire’.”_

_Peter squints at the things being pointed out to him, but this isn’t one of his specialties. It looks like he is going to be brushing up on some of his rune making skills, because fuck him if he gets one upped like this again._

_“Actually,” Deaton rotates the phone and starts to warp the picture. “It looks like it’s layered. I would need to go and see it for myself to see how much magic is actually in it.”_

_“Is there anything useful that you can tell us then?”_

_Deaton looks up and raises an eyebrow to the elder Hale; Derek lost interest almost immediately and is instead poking around some of the bottles on the shelf. Peter can smell the Wolf’s Bane from here and he is excitedly waiting for Derek to stumble upon it. If Deaton’s upturned lip has anything to say about it, Peter bets he’s waiting for it too._

_“Can you feel it in the air?”_

_Peter furrows his brows as he leans in closer to the vet; he can’t feel anything. Even with the possibility of an unknown threat carving sigils into his property, Peter can honestly say that he feels calmer, lighter than he has in days. His wolf that has been pacing, restlessly inside of him finally feels at peace with everything._

_Deaton smirks like he knows what Peter is thinking. “I bet our friend here is what is balancing out what’s happening in the Preserve.”_

_There’s a loud crash followed by Derek’s frantic yelling, “What the hell is that?”_

*

The silence in the room is broken by something, but it takes Peter a few moments to pull himself out of the trance. At first he thinks it’s just Derek getting too impatient. It’s not.

“-phelia!” The closed door continues to rattle as Laura keeps knocking. “Mom says it’s important!”

The three take a moment to try and bring themselves out of the haze they had previously been in; Derek’s eyes are still glossy as Ophelia ends the circle around them. The door flies open as her magic simmers down. Laura’s eyes are wide and her mouth gapes open as she takes in the scene before her. She had made it clear, at a young age, that she didn’t want to be involved with any magic so this is her first time seeing Ophelia’s sacred spot.

Peter stands from his seated position and goes to follow his mother out the door, only stopping to shove Derek over.

“Hey!” He yelps as his body connects with the floor. “What the hell, Peter?”

He shrugs. “It’s a fast way to clear your head after doing this sort of thing.”

Laura snorts as she backs up from the door to let her uncle pass her. Then laughing as she shoves Derek over as they walk side-by-side. Derek let’s out another startled yelp. Peter can feel himself slowly relax as he listens to his niece and nephew bicker. He really hasn’t noticed how tense things have been lately and who knows how long it’s been building up. It’s an uneasy feeling to know that he hadn’t been aware of the changes going on around his pack. It’s his responsibility to keep everyone safe and he can’t do that if he doesn’t even notice the threat.

“So you’re the reason why the Nemeton is fucked up.”

All the tension slams back into Peter’s body as he finishes descending the stairs and turns into the den. The man, if that, standing before them doesn’t look like someone who should make the hair on Peter’s arm stand, but he is. Honey colored eyes sweep across the half formed circle of Werewolves in front of him; the last Peter remembers the kids had been playing upstairs, but he can’t hear their regular rough housing. He makes eye contact with Talia and raises his head, just the slightest, toward the ceiling. She calmly nods her head back toward the group, indicating some of the older pack members are with them.

The stranger looks back at Ophelia and cocks his head to the side, sizing her up. He flaps an arm in her direction as he turns his back to them and wanders around the room.

“You called?”

The clear dismissal of their presence makes his hackles rise. So far his wolf hasn’t react, which is odd. He can just sense a faint trace of weariness, but nothing putting him on guard yet. Except for that plaid monstrosity he’s wearing. That’s something he and his wolf want to burn.

“You must be Stiles.”

He whips his head back around to glare at Peter, his hand hovering over one of the book piles on the coffee table, and scoffs. “Something like that.”

“What did you mean,” Talia steps forward. “About the Nemeton?”

Derek and Laura remain behind the rest of the family, but still close enough to jump in if they need to. Derek closes the den doors, hopefully preventing any unnecessary eavesdropping. Stiles glances between the closed doors and Talia a few times then goes on with picking up one of the books. The old leather bound book looks familiar, but he doesn’t remember carelessly leaving it here. Peter shoots a dirty look at his niece, who doesn’t even look the slightest bit guilty at treating her uncles things with disrespect.

The heathen.

“Mama.” Talia hisses as Ophelia takes a seat on the couch.

She and her kids shift to take a protective stance behind the couch; Peter decides to take a different approach and instead starts to prowls around Stiles. No wonder his wolf doesn’t feel uneasy; this kid is a fucking idiot. It doesn’t matter if this kid doesn’t know he’s surrounded by Weres, his instincts should still be screaming that there’s a predator closing in on him. Yet here he blatantly stands, not even batting an eyelash at the wolf at his back.

Stiles takes the hint and takes the seat opposite of Ophelia. He has the book open and slides it across the table toward her; Peter catches a glance of the crudely drawn picture of a Pixie before she picks up the book.

“I’m not sure how much you know about these little assholes,” Stiles finally addresses Talia. “But they are connected to the natural magic that’s in the Earth, specifically with the older magic that is meant to lay dormant. Pixies are the first line of defense, because they like being on the human plane-”

“We already know this.” Laura rolls her eyes as she flops down on the couch by her grandma. “Are you going to tell us something we don’t know? Like, why you were being creepy outside our house?”

Talia frowns at her daughter as she reaches over the back of the couch and squeezes down on her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Stiles. Go on.”

“Then you’ll know,” Stiles leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, head being propped up by one hand. Peter can see something silver smeared on the back of his neck and it makes him want to reach forward and wipe it off. “That they aren't typically harmful creatures; Pixies use tricks as a way to protect what belongs to them. They need to feel threatened to actually be willing to attack. Which means, if you had bothered to go to the only magic fucking _beacon_ we have here then you’d know why they are acting up. The Nemeton is in _pain_.

If you’d have bothered to check on it then you’d be able to see that someone is killing it. Hell, you can feel it in the air if you get close enough to it.” Stiles throws his hands up on the air then leans over the table separating him from the pack. Peter tenses up, ready to pounce. “So I’m going to need you to tell me how long they’ve been here and if you’ve seen any other types of Fae. I’m also going to need one of the Grimoire that I know you have in your collection.”

The grin Stiles shoots over his shoulder at Peter is all sharp teeth and predatory. He’s not ashamed to admit that the smile shoots straight down to his dick. Ophelia has a wide grin stretched across her face, because like Peter she has a thing for possibly dangerous people, while Talia seems to be the only one to be seriously taking what he had said into consideration. Her eyebrows pinching in consideration and her eyes searching over his lithe form.  
  
She finally nods, more to herself than anyone else in the room. “My brother-in-law is the one who tends to the Nemeton, but he left on a trip a few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Stiles says as he sits back down in the chair and crosses his hands behind his head. “So no one here was trying to see me?”

A smirk dances across his features as he looks between Talia and Ophelia. Peter notices Stiles rub his thumb over the silver mark on his neck, he pulls his hand in front of him then makes a face. He goes to wipe it on his jeans, but stops in his tracks when Ophelia reaches across the table and snatches his wrist.

“Is this Pixie blood?”

“Uh, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh hunny,” Ophelia cackles as she pulls him to his feet. “I like you.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course it is, Scottie! You need to trust me more. Isaac, get your game face on. Scott, we need you to do your thing. Ready? Let’s go.”

Scott and Isaac share an uneasy look as they trail after Stiles in the cafeteria; he’s been back at school for a little over a week now and he’s done a complete 180. It was on the second day back that he insisted that they befriend Isaac, who didn’t like it at all and fought back every step of the way. The snark between Stiles and Isaac had been almost rival to the Jackson-incident-that-they-do-not-speak-of. If it wasn’t for Scott playing mediator then the tentative friendship between the two wouldn’t have gotten this far. Stiles next plan is to add Boyd to their new group.

Scott can’t recall Boyd ever being violent, but there’s always a first when it comes to Stiles. He looks over at Isaac and gives him a smile, the cute “What can you do” face firmly in place as he trails after his best friend. Isaac sighs to himself and, not for the first time, wonders what his life has come to.

“Hey Boyd!”

Stiles plops down across from the other teen and flashes a smile, Scott sits beside his best friend and Isaac gingerly sinks down next to Boyd.

“It’s $50 for the keys.” Boyd doesn’t even bother to look up from his own food.

“What? No. I mean, yeah if you throw in the Zamboni, but that’s not what we want.”

Stiles doesn’t bother to look up from his own tray of assorted food. He picks up his bottled juice and places it on Scott’s tray, taking the fries as he withdraws his hands.

“What?”

Boyd looks up and narrows his eyes at Stiles, who ignores the look and instead passes Isaac his pudding cup. Then, finally, pushes his orange over towards Boyd.

“We want you to join our super, secret boyband.” Stiles picks up the orange in his hand and instead extends it toward the teen across from him.

Boyd dark eyes gazed at each intruder at his table; Isaac shifts uncomfortably, but turns his attention to Scott. This isn’t his battle and he is not about to get involved with whatever joke Stiles wants to play.

“What did you get for #4 on last nights chemistry?”

“Dude,” Scott squawks out. “Do you think I understood any of it? I had to call Stiles last night to have him explain it.”

Boyd wearily accepts the orange from the outstretched hand as he watches the three start to bicker over homework.

The four teenagers fall into a steady rhythm after the initial awkwardness. Scott and Stiles keep up a conversation while Isaac throws in a quiet comment every once and awhile; Boyd doesn’t say anything unless something is directly asked of him, Stiles relaxes a little at the familiar gesture. He will never admit it out loud, but he’s felt like he’s been walking on unsteady ground since the moment he woke up here. Having the one familiar thing helps settle his shaky thoughts and half formed ideas. Stiles may, he will never say it out loud, even miss Isaac’s douche bag scarves.

What has his life come to?

-

“They’re staring again.”

Stiles tries to talk with his mouth full, but only succeeds in choking. Just a little bit though. Boyd grimaces at the food that flew from Stiles mouth, but he’s excited, okay? Boyd has never initiated the conversations back Before.

“Who?”

Isaac gives him an exasperated look. “The Hales.”

“Oh. Well, who doesn’t want to look at all of this,” Stiles waves his hand around his face. “Let the Wonder Twins eat their hearts out.”

“I didn’t want to ask, but, uh,” Scott fidgets with his spork and ends up using it to mashes up his fruit cup. “Do they have anything to do with the Lydia thing?”

“Lydia thing?”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with her, man,” Boyd rolls his eyes. “And you haven’t tried talking to her once.”

Ouch. A sharp pain ripples through Stiles chest as he thinks about his Before Pack. He tries not to think about them too often in front of other people. His life seems to be made up of two different times, the Before and Now. Sometimes he gets these weird dreams like he’s actually a 17 year old guy that lives a normal life. Hell, he’s been waking up with morning wood. It. Was. Awesome. He’s definitely missed that about being a teenager.

“She’s the moon of my life, that’s all I know and all I need to know- have none of you guys seen Game of Thrones?” Stiles asks incredulously at the blank stares he’s getting. “That’s changing. Let’s have a marathon at my house this weekend. We’ll establish a time later and set up a pick up time. Should we invite Erica? She’ll get a kick out of the emotional rollercoaster you guys are about to get on.”

Stiles whips out his phone and starts a group message; his fingers flying across the keyboard then hitting send. Each phone going off as he shoves his back into the pocket of his jeans.

“How’s you get my number?” Boyd asks in disbelief as he unlocks his phone to read the text.

“When did you start talking to Erica?” Scott has the kicked puppy look on his face and Stiles wants to pinch his cheeks and coo.

“Aww, Scottie, are you jealous? Don’t be. You’re the wind beneath my wings!” Stiles leaps up from the lunch table and scoops up his backpack with one hand and his empty tray with the other. “Every boyband needs the kickass manager and she is going to be ours! Don’t worry, it’ll only be awkward at first. Isn’t that how most good things go though?”

Stiles leaves in a whirlwind of words and flailing limbs. Scott watches his retreating back and feels a pool of dread form in the pit of his stomach.

“Does anyone else feel really manipulated by Stiles right now?”

Boyd and Isaac snort in agreement.

-

Stiles can hear the squeals of children laughing before he even makes it to the (open!!!) front door, but he does his best to ignore it and instead marches to the kitchen. Because if he knows anything about Werewolves, and he does, there are going to be some in the kitchen no matter what. He throws open the door and sees Derek and Laura with their backs to him and bent over something on the counter.

“Are you trying to give me a conniption?” He arms flail around him to try as if they are trying to make a point. “I put energy into making you guys protection wards and you guys just leave the door open? Any threat can just walk in here! I could be a threat and you guys are just letting me in!”

Laura has a hand over her mouth, trying to hold back laughter at his overdramatic flails, and Derek is eyeing him with wide eyes.

“Well, are you a threat?”

“What? No!”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “Then what’s the big deal?”

Stiles sputters then throws one of his arms out in Laura’s direction, she just cocks her hip out to the side and leans against the countertop. Obviously pleased with just watching this play out. He’s distantly aware of someone opening the backdoor and stepping inside, but Stiles has his focus solely on Derek.

“You can’t just take my word for it! It’s like when a pedophile is working in an ice cream truck. He’s not going to tell you that he wants to do some bad touching, he’s going to say that he’ll give you free ice cream if you help him pick up some popsicles he dropped in back.”

It’s in the awkward silence that follows that he notices the decorations hanging around the room. Pink and purple streamers hanging above each doorway, balloons attached to the back of chairs at the table and a big ass banner saying “Welcome Home!”

“Am I crashing a birthday party?”

“You mean you decided to come without even knowing what’s going on?” Peter is the first one to shake off the uncomfortable silence as he saunters more into the room. Has Stiles ever mentioned how much he likes Henley shirts? Because goddamn is this a sight he’s missed ogling at. He lets his eyes roam over Peter’s lean figure, more out of habit for searching for any weapons than anything else, then meets his eyes head on. For the most part it doesn’t look like he cares that Stiles has basically been mentally stripping him.

“I got a text from someone and it said “Come over”. So, you know, here I am.”

He brings his hands in front of his chest and spreads his wiggling fingers out. This situation seems more like a jazz hands than a finger gun type of thing. Laura pushes herself off the counter and glares at him.

“And what if it had been a trap? What were you just saying about threats!”

“That’s different!”

“Oh really? How?”

Stiles shifts from foot to foot as the siblings take a step closer to him. “First of all, you would have had Ophelia text me if if was a trap, lull me into that fake sense of security. Second of all, I’m the kid that knows what the ice cream man does, but sometimes the call of ice cream is too much to resist. And unknown numbers texting me what to do is sort of a Spider-Man popsicle being waved in my face. I need answers to live.”

“Oh,” Derek’s face falls as he takes another step. “Does your dad know?”

“We’ve never talked about it, but I’m pretty sure my dad knows me well enough to know that I’m not going to just leave the texts alone.”

“No! About the ice cream man?” Derek lowers his voice as if three out of four people in the kitchen don’t have super heating. “Do you want a hug?”

“ _What_?” Stiles raises his hands in a placating way, more like a barrier if he’s going to be honest, as he moves away from Derek. “Nothing happened with an ice cream man. Jesus, please don’t hug me.”

He’s man enough to admit that he’s more than a little uncomfortable right now. Derek was never one to show his emotions and this one is just openly showing his concern. Wanting to give a hug? Where’s the shoving the human into the wall followed by sullen silence? He can tell that the scent he’s giving off is unpleasant if the way Derek and Laura’s faces drop and they hurriedly try to put some distance between them and him.

“Look, I’m just trying to tell you to be more careful. You can’t take everything I say at face value. So was I meant to come to this party or?”

Peter uncrosses his arms and eyes Stiles; his face unreadable as he sizes him up. He lets the seconds tick by in a relatively quiet manner, if he ignores the laughing and playing taking place in the back yard. He’s not exactly sure how much time has passed, but he’s beginning to feel fidgety; he lets the fingers on his right hand tap a beat against his leg, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Trevor is back. Ophelia said - ”

“Ohmygod. Am I finally allowed to play in the big kid’s library?”

Peter levels him with a dry look. Then turns his back to the three occupants in the kitchen. “Derek, your father needs more hamburger meat.”

Stiles scrambles after Peter’s retreating form. He feels giddy at finally being able to get his hands on the Hale’s special book collections; his steps come in even strides as he catches up.

“You know,” Stiles drawls out as he fiddles with his cuffs of his flannel. “There are a lot of you Hales. Why don’t you just go get them for me and I’ll be waiting inside?”

“So you’re not the ‘sweet, young man’ that’s been texting with my mother?”

He can feel his face begin to form splotch as the blush creeps up his neck and onto his cheeks. Peter peaks at him out of the corner of his eye and let’s his lips pull up in a smirk.

“I don’t approve of these slanders and lies!”

Peter just hums his agreement and continues on. Stiles is thankful that he hadn’t called him out on the lie, his heart skipping a beat was a clear indication, and focuses on the people loitering around the yard. The pictures that Ophelia had send him seem to have helped a lot and he can confidently say he can name most of the people here, except for the kids. She hadn’t told him anything about them, not that Stiles minds. Speaking of the kids…

“Ohmygoodness,” Stiles smacks the back of his hand against Peter’s arm as he begins to coo. “I need to hold her.”

Ophelia is standing a few feet off to the side with a bundle of purple fabric in her arms. A small, pink face is blinking at all bright colors and noise surrounding them. He can even see tuff of dark hair peaking out from under the baby beanie on her head.

“Ah, she would be mine.” A voice calls out. “Hi. I’m Trevor.”

Stiles shakes the hand extended towards him. Trevor is tall and lean, but those seem to be the only traits he shares with the Hales; dirty blonde hair is neatly trimmed on the sides and slightly longer on the top to give it a fohawk appearance. Instead of having a sharp, angular structure to his face Trevor has softer lines. His green eyes look less guarded too.

“So you’re the one who tried to deconstruct my ward? I should probably be more annoyed about that, but I’m rather flattered.”

Trevor risks a look to Peter then quickly meets his eyes again. His eyes may look less guarded to Stiles, but that doesn’t mean he also can’t see the challenging look he flashes.

“How could you tell? I put it back together again.”

“I felt when you first started poking at it. You didn’t have any ill intent so nothing happen, but enough about that,” he waves a hand around like he’s brushing away the conversation. “What do I have to do to get in on the baby holding?”

“You’ll have to fight Mama Ophelia for it.”

Stiles patches onto Peter’s arm and begins to shake it like an excited toddler would. “Peter will fight for my honor for me.”

Peter gives him a scandalized look. “I don’t even _like_ you.”

“You pretending not to care is my biggest turn on.” He tries to shove Peter in the direction that he wants. “Now go win that baby for me!”


	6. Chapter 6

“Uncle Peter!” Athena chases after her uncle as he’s heading out to his car. He lifts an eyebrow at his nieces, Cora not far behind her. “Are you- what are you doing to do with Stiles?”

“What do you mean?”

He watches as Athena shifts uncomfortably; her eyes refusing to meet him. Even if he couldn’t smell the anxiety wafting off of her he’d be able to tell by the way she’s gnawing at her lip.

Cora steps up and juts out her chin. “Are you going to kill him?”

Ah, there are few discrepancies between the two girls, but the main one is the Athena prejects her emotions while Cora can fake an air of nonchalance. She’s the one that Peter’s betting will become Laura’s left hand.

“I’m going to keep an eye on him. That’s it.”

They both eye him, probably not believing him, but they eventually give in and let him go. Ophelia may not be the Alpha, but Talia always takes her opinion into consideration whenever they are faced with something new. And Stiles is defiantly new; so of course Ophelia would bond with him.

Peter snorts then begins his drive.

That was the red flab with Stiles, wasn’t it? The pack wants to bond with him, not treat him as a threat. He didn’t set off any warning bells with any of the wolves. Sofia and Trevor let Stiles hold their newborn, Ophelia insisting that she and Trevor let the wards down to let him into the more personal Hale books and Peter even let Stiles into _his_ personal space. That alone should be worrisome. Stiles had been over everyday this week, nose in a book or cuddling with baby Madi, and stayed well into the night. Peter and Cora may have tried seeing who could make a higher Cheerio tower on him while he slept one night (The answer is no one. He woke up as the first Cheerio was placed on his forehead).

Yesterday had been the first day that Stiles hadn’t show up, it had set a lot of the younger pups on edge and they couldn’t explain why. Even baby Madi had grown fussy without the younger man there. With all the kids acting up Ophelia had finally given in; Trevor is on his way to Deaton’s, he has always gotten along better with the man than Peter has, while he’s on his way to scout out the Stilinski home.

Peter parks his car at the park a street over and walks his way over to the house in question. Looking at the house, nothing seems to really jump out at him; there isn’t even any fizzle in the air that indicates an active magic user.

“Scott, buddy,” Peter listens in as Stiles talks and the heartbeats in the living room settle down. “You’re gonna need to put your phone done. This is a very intense plot and if you don’t pay attention then you’ll get lost.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t invite her.” Is the sulky reply.

“Because you literally met her yesterday when she was moving into town. Can you wait until she’s at least unpacked before you start inviting her to do things? Now hush. This is a good part.” Stiles keeps his voice pleasant, but Peter can sense the mood shift in him; becoming guarded.

The rest of the afternoon passes slowly for Peter as he listens to a group of teenagers watch TV. He knew that he could always just come back when he’s not home, but this gave Peter insight on how Stiles interacts outside of the Hales. And, frankly, it isn’t very impressive. Stiles and some girl ended up just gushing about some of the actors (he isn’t going to be the one to break this development of Stiles sexuality to Athena) and argued with with the others.

-

Peter takes back any nice thoughts he’s had about Stiles. How can he just sit and watch TV all day? He wants to hang himself from the tree that he’s currently perched on. The sheriff has arrived home already and the group of rowdy teens left soon after. _Now is as a good of a time as any_ , Peter thinks to himself as he creeps further onto the branch.

“So what was that all about?” He can hear the sheriff shuffling things around inside the house.

“I adopted a pack of rebellious teenagers. What? You always talk about me having kids! No take backs. Here,” the shuffling finally comes to an end as Stiles hands his dad something. “They saves some pizza for you. Aren’t they sweet kids?”

“I guess you can keep them.”

The two men seem content to sit in silence as Peter props open Stiles’ bedroom window and climb through. He can’t help sneering once he’s standing inside. How can Stiles lecture them about safety when he doesn’t even latch his window closes? It’s basically an invitation for any Werewolf to come in.

“I’m gonna hit the hay, Dad. Don’t eat too much pizza.”

Peter freezes where he is. Is he a fucking psychic? There’s no other way Stiles would know that he is here before he even got a chance to snoop around. Peter tenses as he hears footsteps rushing up the stairs, but they don’t stop outside the door and instead keep going. He only relaxes his stance and lets his eyes wonder once he can hear the shower stutter to life.

Everything about the room just seems too clean for a high schooler; no clothes scattered around the floor, no loose papers and even the desk is neatly organized by school subject. He feels a flash of annoyance, but he easily brushes it aside. Stiles didn’t have any wards to keep unannounced visitors away, so he must have a hiding place. What teenager doesn’t, Peter scoffs as he surveys the room.

He walks over to the bed and lifts up the corner of the mattress; a quick swipe of his hand and reveals nothing. Not even a Victoria’s Secret magazine. The same with under the bed. He gives a small huff as he pushes himself to his feet. Peter looks up to the other door in the bedroom and he freezes, it feels like a bucket of cold water is thrown on him and his lungs seize up. He blinks and the next thing he knows Peter is standing in front of the door. Clawed fingertips are wrapped so tightly around the knob that he can feel the metal warping against his palm.

The clothes are easily ripped off the hangers and thrown to the side, he may have put a little too much unnecessary force with a few shirts because _ew plaid_ , and his body goes lax once his blue eyes take in the papers on the back wall. Everything is fuzzy; Peter can clearly see the words written down, but he can’t process any of them. In his peripheral he can see pictures, but he. Just. Can’t. Everything seems to be slipping away, like trying to grab water with his hands.

“Having fun?”

Everything seems to snap back into order and Peter throws himself back, into a defensive stance, snarling at the threat.

Stiles looks unimpressed as he raises an eyebrow at the wolf standing around his shredded clothes. He seems to understand what the startled wolf needs and doesn’t make any sudden movements, instead he projects his movements as he runs a towel through his damp hair.

“Do you know the Argents?”

“What?” Peter blinks at the younger man in confusion while his features slowly melt away. He has to blink again to get his eyes to shift back to blue.

“The Argents. Did you know them?”

Stiles peaks a curious eye at Peter, but doesn’t ask the obvious questions. Like, why the fuck is he here? Peter internally flinches at the thought of Talia finding out.

“I went to school with Alex.”

“Who?”

Stiles drops the towel into his hamper, but keeps his eyes on Peter the whole time. With the bedroom light on and at just the right angle Peter thinks that Stiles has gold, Beta eyes. It’s a wonderful view and sends a surge of need through Peter.

“Alexander Argent. He was the youngest child, we went to school together. Now, how are they involved in this?”

Stiles makes a thoughtful noise, he brings a hand up and begins to bite at the pad of his thumb. From the corner of hand his eye he sees something creeping up Stiles’ pale arm, but when he tries to get another look nothing’s there. In fact, as long as he doesn’t look straight at Stiles then he can see glimpses of markings all around his torso; some starting to creep down into the waistband of the grey sweatpants as well. The only thing he is able to see is a raised, pink scar running down his sternum and ending just before his navel. On the left side of his chest, where his heart is, there’s an angry burn of three connected spirals; on the opposite side there’s thick, black lines forming a star being surrounded by flames.

There’s a slender finger tapping against the tattoo, cutting off his view from it.

“Anti-possession. Nothing can get inside and no magic can influence me.” He brings his hand across to the other side and taps near the healing marks, tracing the outline of each spiral as he talks. “Triskele. Each spiral representing something different like life-death-rebirth, past-present-future, uh… Alpha-Bets-Omega. I, uh, use this for grounding myself.”

Peter wants to roll his eyes. Of course he knows what a Triskele is and instead puts a pin in this topic to bring up later. “They look fresh. Do the Argents play a role in that as well?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Stiles bites down on his bottom lip then nods to himself. “I don’t know if they are relevant or not yet. Why don’t they line up with before though? I just don’t get it, but I think I know someone who does. Where did you park your car?”

He narrows his eyes as Stiles steps forward and picks up one of the plaid shirts and puts it on, content with ignoring the cuts on the shoulder of it. Something doesn’t feel right and it’s making Peter anxious.

“What are you waiting for? We need to get chocolate milk too. Some of that good shit at the natural food store.”

It isn’t until Stiles is straddling the window sill and sighing exasperated at him that it clicks. The haze in his head seems to clear up as he suddenly realizes what’s happening.

“You didn’t ward tour window, because you already have one protecting whatever the hells in here.” He jabs a finger toward the closed closet door, he can’t even recall closing it.

“You caught me. Maybe I’ll explain it on the way, but we need to go for that to happen.”

Stiles gives a small impish grin then ducks out the window.

“What the fuck?”

He doesn’t like not knowing things. After all, he’s the one people come to for information and now he’s getting talked down to by some kid in high school.

Un-fucking-believable.

-

Stiles beams up as Peter gets back into the car and closes the door behind him, a gallon of expensive chocolate milk is in one hand. He shoves the offending container over and starts the car.

“What happened to Alex?”

Stiles taps a rhythm against the cold milk jug in his lap; Peter is already driving toward the Preserve and barely spares a glance at the other male.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Peter tuts. “I’ve already answered your question. I think it’s time that you share what you know with the class.”

Stiles turns to stare at Peter, eyes squinted as he studies him. The silence isn’t tense, but it’s not as light as it had previously been.

“Look,” Stiles pauses as he tries to think of the right words. “I’m not positive that the Argents have anything to do with this, but I just have this feeling, okay? I learned a long time ago not to ignore these feelings.”

Peter peaks over and can see Stiles fingering the Triskele over his shirt. The rest of the drive is spent in silence, Peter trying to decide if he should be following this whack job around; but, he knows those feelings that Stiles is talking about. _His instincts._ Peter knows not to ignore them. He parks the car and shifts his upper body to look at Stiles head on.

“My… my closet, it helps keep everything organized. Lately it’s been hard to keep stuff in order,” he leans back against the headrest and brings a hand to tap against his temple. “So I lay it out in order to see the bigger picture. That’s why I have it protected; that’s why you can’t remember what’s in it. And I know I’m missing something, _something big_ , that will make everything else fall back into place.”

“And is this,” Peter tilts his head toward the milk. “Going to help?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it will.”

“Alex and I were close friends in high school. Right before graduation he died and then his family moved.”

Peter stares at Stiles, trying to convey a hidden message. The way his jaw ticks and golden eyes seem to sharpen, Peter’s message was received. Instead of saying anything back, Stiles simply nods then proceeds to step out of the car; Peter follows.

They don’t make it too far into the woods before he can feel a shift in the wind, almost like an electric charge. He can tell the moment Stiles notices, because his whole body seems to relax; the complete opposite of Peter, who tenses up at the magic gathering around. There’s a rustling from the bushes that makes both men stop in their tracks. Stiles sits down on his hunches in the grass and places the chocolate milk in front of him.

“ **Iggilo bur-Rabadu-iggilo-nemto-gurn ark gurn-iggilo-fala-tomowa.** ”

Peter can feel his eyebrows scrunch together as he looks at Stiles in confusion, because what the _fuck_ is that? A clicking noise starts up, only to increase its speed as Peter looks around the clearing.

“ **Laptron! Laptron!** ”

He snaps his head back to the bush as a small body rushes forward and stops a few feet away from Stiles crouched form. The clicking speeds up, but it decreases in volume and Peter can finally see that it’s the tiny being’s sharp teeth clicking together. A bushy, white beard and mustache frame the creature’s mouth and matching eyebrows are above black, beady eyes. The thing that strikes Peter as odd about it is the thing on its head. A stump that reminds him, strangely, of when a goat has his horns sawed short. It holds out a red cloth out to Stiles, who’s gaping down at it.

“Oh my god. Gned?” It makes a high pitched chirping noise in reply and Stiles reaches out to pick it up. “It is you! What are you doing here? What am _I_ doing here? Is it just you or is everyone else here? Holy fuck. This is not how I thought tonight would go!”

“Did you name a Gnome Ned?”

Stiles turns to look at Peter and gives him a scandalized look. “It’s Gned, with a silent G in front. We have a strong bond made by pranks and loyalty, so I’ll have you keep your negative tones to yourself. Thank you very much.”

“What the hell are you?”

“Oh sweetheart, wouldn’t you like to know?” Stiles winks at Peter then turns his attention back to the Gnome in his arms. This is the first time Peter’s been this close to Stiles, by himself anyway, and he can clearly hear the fast pace that his heart usually beats at, but it’s different this time. He inches forward and strains his ears. Stiles has always had an unusual beat, fast and sometimes inconsistent he should probably get that checked out, and “Gned’s” is fainter but beating just as fast in excitement. Underneath that is another beat though. Something faint and slow. It’s something that can easily be drowned out by being around multiple people. And yeah, Peter really does want to know what the fuck Stiles is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I bring a gift.”   
> “Able! Able!” 
> 
> If you want to know what Gned looks like then look up Chomsky from the Netflix cartoon Trollhuntets. 
> 
> Comments make me happy on so many levels. So thank you everyone who has left one for me! 
> 
> I’ve decided to keep it a Steter and post my Chris/Peter/Stiles story separately. Sometimes a second note is posted underneath this asking which pairing to choose, I don’t know how to make it go away. So ignore it if it’s there.


	7. Chapter 7

“Happy birthday, Batman.” 

Erica smacks a kiss onto Stiles’ cheek and he knows that a red lipstick mark is going to be left behind. Some people never grow out of certain phases and Erica’s love for hooker red lipsticks just so happened to be hers. 

“We’ve missed you. You need to visit more.” 

Stiles wants to argue that he comes back to Beacon Hills at least once a week, but he knows what she means. It’s been 5 years since he dropped out of school and left the place he always called home. This is the first that he’s come back to actually visit, rather than just get information and leave agin. Stiles can feel a lump forming in his throat, but he ignores it in favor of nodding to her. 

He leans in to wrap her up in his arms, but jerks to a stop when he sees the blood falling from between her closed lips. Boyd rushes to her side and puts an arm around her shoulders and tries to yank her hands away from the growing stain of red on her stomach. Stiles an hear everyone yelling, trying to make sense of what’s happening, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Erica. 

Boyd looks up and snarls at him, “This is your fault.”

Gashes begin opening down the side of Boyd’s face and blood runs free; making his face look like a bad Slasher flick. Erica’s eyes roll into the back of her head and she goes limp in his arms, mouth still spilling a river of red and Stiles can feel the panic grabbing at his heart. It’s squeezing and won’t let go. Stiles, with his wide eyes, looks down at the pain in his chest and sees that he’s split open. 

He opens his mouth to let out a scream, but someone grabs his shoulders and forces him around. Derek ignores the yells around the room and Stiles chest; instead staring at him in the eyes. 

“Stiles, you need to fix this. Do you understand? Stiles!” 

Stiles bolts up in his bed, chest heaving, and biting off a scream. With shaky hands he grasps at his chest, trying to find the gash in his chest, but his fingers come back clean. He forces himself up from bed and stumbles over to his desk; Stiles shoves the homework assignments off to the side and drags his laptop closer. 

The light from the screen waking up momentarily blinds him, but he tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes as he opens up a new Word Document. He has needs to write everything down so that he remembers what’s real and what’s a dream. Stiles can feel the blood begin to drip out of his nose, something that’s become normal after these types of dreams, but he just uses the back of his hand to smear it. 

 

Stiles grabs the knife from under his pillow and rolls off the side of his bed; crouching down into a defensive position with his bad against the wall. It takes a minute for Stiles to blink away the remaining of his dream. Remembering his 22nd birthday made his skin feel too tight, but it wasn’t really his birthday, was it? Because no one got hurt at his birthday. Lydia made some alcohol so that the pack could get drunk and then they all got hammered. Erica and Boyd had been the first to leave the loft, Scott had brought up the sheriff so that lead to the two of them crying on the couch. Peter and Derek had gifted Stiles one of the remaining books-

The book!

Stiles gets up from his crouch and leaps over the other side of his bed. The light in the corner flashes, letting him know he has messages, and he drags his thumb across the screen to unlock it. The brightness blinds him and he flinches back; the light brings him back to his dream again. Something splashed on the screen, distorting the unread messages from Trevor and Scott. 

“What the fuck..” 

He brings a hand up to his nose and wipes away at the wetness; staining his pale skin crimson. Stiles balls up the end of his sleeve and presses it to his bleeding nose. With his other hand he brings his phone down to wipe off on his pants then proceeds to open up his texts. 

12:32 AM  
Trevor: Mama Ophelia & I are going to the Nemeton tomorrow. U in? 

1:12 AM   
Scott: New spider man mvie is starting Thurs. pick me up @ 7????

Stiles sends off agreements to both messages, only afterwards does he acknowledge that 4:30 AM is too early to be texting back on the weekend. 

Oh well. 

He hears the shower stutter to life and decided that he might as well make the most of it; Stiles isn’t going to lie, it’s been awkward being with his dad again. It makes his chest do this weird ache thing and he always feels guilty after seeing him. This isn’t really his dad, he’s stealing a different Stiles’ dad time. Stiles shakes his head and gives himself a moment to gather himself. 

Once he reaches the kitchen he heads straight to the fridge, he knows the regular bacon is in the veggie drawer, and takes out everything he needs. It doesn’t take too long for the smell of cooking bacon to draw his dad out of the shower and into the kitchen. 

“What’s the occasion?” John lifts a brow at his son. 

Stiles shrugs, because there isn’t an occasion. He’s just so happy to have these moments again and he’s also so upset at the same time. He doesn’t deserve his father again; it’s also tearing at the wounds that never healed quite right. 

“You okay, son? It’s pretty early.” 

Stiles puts bacon and eggs on two plates then puts them on the table, his dad doing the same thing with two mugs of coffee. 

“You’ve just been working a lot.” 

Which is true, since Stiles has been “better” his dad has been picking up as many shifts as he can. He feels guilt that he’s relieved about it. 

“What are you doing today? I can stay home if you want.” 

John picks up a piece of bacon and practically inhales it, only giving Stiles minimal praise, which rude. He deserves all the praise. 

Stiles shrugs again. “Just catch up on some homework. Nothing too exciting will be happening here.” 

The two finish the food in silence, only talking again to say their goodbyes as John heads to work. Stiles goes upstairs to change and grab his phone, it’s only been a little over an hour since he texted Trevor so he’s not surprised that he hasn’t received a text back. He might as well get a head start to the Nemeton; Stiles opens up his closet door and drops down to the trunk in the corner, he avoids looking up at his notes taped to the wall. Now is not the time to get sucked into it. And he grabs onto the knife that Janet had first given him. His thumb lightly traces over the sigils carved into the sleek silver; he can feel his spark shifting in reaction to the magic in the blade. 

Stiles shoves the blade down the back of his pants as he stands back up. The blade feels cool against his skin and it puts him at ease, even if it puts his magic on edge. He decides to ignore it and instead rushes out of the house and to his beautiful Rosco. 

“Hey there.” Stiles lightly traces his fingertips up the side of the Jeep and stops at the handle at the drivers side. “It’s a bit early, but are you up for a drive? Yeah, that’s alright.” 

He lets out a cheer as Rosco starts up on the first try and silently promises to wash him soon. Maybe even a tire rotation if they can make it to the Preserve without any attitude. Okay, he’ll do the tire rotation even if Rosco decides to stop working right then and there. 

The sun is still rising by the time that Stiles backs out of the driveway and sets off to the Preserve. He has the window down and the morning air helps soothe him; the dream still lingers at the edge of his mind, but he does his best to shove it away. It’s odd to look at the town and know that it’s not really his home, but looks exactly like his. Stiles lets his mind drift off a little as he drives; only having to shake his thoughts away a handful of times before he reaches the edge of the forest. He parks the Jeep and jumps out, a little hop in his step as he feels the Nemeton calling him. 

A chattering pulls Stiles attention to the side of the path that he’s walking; one hand going behind his back for the blade as he steps to the side. A loud chirp goes off and then a small body is rushing forward. 

“Gned! Hey, man.”

Stiles lets his hand fall back to his side as Gned approaches. His small body vibrating with excitement and his sharp teeth chattering together as he tugs on the bottom of Stiles’ jeans. He leads the way and Stiles happily follows his smaller companion. 

“So, are you going to explain anything to me or what?” 

His question is ignored and instead Gned begins tugging harder at the denim in his grasp. Stiles lets out a small huff, but continues to follow. 

“Fine fine. I guess I’ll just do as you command. No questions asked and no answers given. It’s fine. But, you know, if I did have a question it would be if you know what’s been happening with my pack? You know, just wondering. Because how can you be my Gned and this one? Unless you guys are the same one and if that’s the case then you know what’s going on, right?” Stiles can hear the frantic edge of his voice, but it all tapers off into a deep sigh, because, “What the fuck?” 

It doesn’t matter that Stiles had checked in on the Nemeton a couple of weeks ago, it doesn’t matter that he can still feel the magic coming from it, because this tree couldn’t be further from the the Nemeton once was. Thick, black lines race up and down the trunk while the branches droop down, the leaves already missing in chunks. He feels like if he were to touch it then it would bend under the pressure of his hand. 

“Jesus,” Stiles rubs his hand through his hair and stares. “What the fuck is going on?” 

-

Stiles heads back to the Hale House after flinging the cleanse on the Nemeton with Trevor and Ophelia. He’s officially a man an a mission, or well another mission.

“Hear me out.” Stiles plops down next to Peter on the front porch. 

“No.” 

Peter keeps his eyes trained down on the book in his hand and flips to the next page. He can’t help but pout at the clear dismissal that Peter is giving him. Well, jokes on Peter, because Stiles has never been good at backing off. Just ask Lydia. 

“Gned won’t tell me anything unless he feels comfortable.” 

Peter lifts an eyebrow, but still won’t look up from the book. “And how is this my problem?” 

“It’s not. It’s an us problem. He will only feel comfortable if he’s surrounded by a pack and it just so happens that you’re in a pack.” 

“Begging it’s not a good look on people, darling, but I will admit I do like it on you.”

“What? I – no! That’s not – what?” 

Stiles can feel his face blotching up as he begins to blush, his arms stop mid flail and he’s got no response. He thinks his mouth might be attempting to say something, but what he hears is a jumbled mess. 

“Talia isn’t going to let you bring a Gnome to her house.” 

“I won’t be able to if you don’t earn his damn trust.” 

Peter finally looks up, but his eyes flicker past Stiles before finally meeting his. The corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk and, oh boy, Stiles recognizes this face. This is Peter’s “I-know-something-you-don’t” and it’s something he hasn’t missed at all. 

“I’ll help you-”

Stiles looks on in weary. “Why does this not make me feel better?” 

“If you pass.” 

“Pass what?” 

“Oh sweetie,” a firm hand grabs into Stiles’ shoulder and he throws himself forward to get away. He looks behind him, eyes narrowed, and sees Ophelia smiling down devilishly. “Did you think I really invited you here just for tea?” 

He gasps and places a hand over his heart. “Subterfuge? How could you?”

“You know I like you,” Ophelia grabs onto her hand and places it on the crook of her elbow, gently laying her fingers as she leads him inside. “But we tried being patient.” 

And yeah, Stiles can completely understand why Peter and Talia are so badass. He turns his head to look at Peter, who’s silently following the pair, and widens his eyes. “Is she going to kill me?”

Peter’s mouth curls up into another smirk and she shrugs. 

“Help me.” Stiles mouths over to Peter, but his request is ignored. Instead of anyone stepping into help him, he’s ushered back into the room he was first taken to. The books that had been scattered around were picked up and more chairs have been shoved around the table. Talia is already sitting on the couch, eyes trained on trio as soon as the trio walks in, and a familiar looking man is sitting beside her. There’s a sharp jabbing pain forming from behind his eye; it feels like something is tearing its claws through his brain. He brings a hand up and wipes at something that’s tickling his lip, when he brings it back down he can see his fingers streaked with blood. Stiles brings his sleeve up and presses it to his dripping nose and shrugs out of the hands grasping at his shoulder. 

“You work with my dad!” 

“Joseph.” 

Stiles continues to stare in a stunned silence as he open and closes his mouth a few times. He finally manages to get his bearings around him and points an accusing finger at the man. “Are you a Werewolf?”

“Come sit, Stiles. We have a few questions that we’d like if you could answer.” Joseph’s mouth quirks up on one side, but it’s Ophelia who talks instead. 

She’s holding a cup of tea in both hands and she places one cup in Stiles hands. She has a gentle smile on her face, but her eyes have a vicious gleam in them.   
Stiles staggers over to a plush armchair, but changed his mind last second and instead takes the spot beside Peter on the other couch. 

“Uh, yeah, sure. Lay it on me.” 

Stiles can feel his heart hammering away in his chest and he can tell by the way that all the wolves in the room are looking at him, that they can hear it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I lied. The answers are coming next chapter.


End file.
